Utopia
by g-string TKYO
Summary: Thou art to me a delicious torment. [vignette]


**_Title:_** Utopia

**_Author:_** .elite society.

**_Notes:_** This was inspired by the brilliant E.A. Poe's _The Raven_. I love that poem.

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own CCS. (trust me)

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**Utopia**

_"Thou art to me a delicious torment."_

**-Ralph Waldo Emerson**

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She wanted to die.

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She wanted to die right then and right there. She wanted to die and never return. She wanted to leave this maimed place she resided in. She wanted to leave this place where her mother had planted wholeheartedly little miniscule seeds of 'home' under encouraging pretenses that it would grow and flourish out of her virgin mouth. They wanted to corrupt…and, they had. They corrupted the pure ones with their ingenuous lies and candid minds. She was, well, had been a victim too. The clock of living ticked away at the decayed fragments of her life. Slowly. Gradually ebbing away what was left of her insanity. Ticking and tocking, it tore away at the intrigued madness and fragile sanity, the blemished and the flawless. Leaving only what was left: the grotesque debris that has left her in a state of equilibrium. Tearing, gnawing, and probing with its avarice claws of hunger and yearning for the indifferent thoughts of the _Little Ones_. The Endangered Species. The Connoisseurs. This whole world. This whole inhabitance is contaminated….just like her. And, she hated it. She hated herself.

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She was lying there: on the vast, voluminous bed, her riotous auburn tresses splattered onto the crimson satin sheets. The smooth, gentle velvetiness of the cool fabric contrasted to her feverish flesh and understated feelings that were wallowing in her morbid thoughts. She tried desperately to grasp, as if it was the only piece of her diligence left, to the ever-breaking threads. But she knew that her petite fingers were casually slipping on their embrace on what was real and not real on remembering or forgetting. As she lay, jagged emerald gazed with feigned interest at the bland ceiling as if it were the most breathtaking beauty she had ever had the audacity to lay her eyes own. Her **poisoned** eyes. She was bare- the only thing concealing her naked figure were the bruises that dressed her already tainted body. Sweat matted her forehead. Some came together to form tiny droplets of induced salt traveling down the sides of her head. Drip. Dripping away at the height of her patience. It was tempting her. Beguiling, and nevertheless irritating to a degree like a parasite glued to her pure thoughts.

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Her ragged breathing sliced through the air. He had made a sound. A sudden movement. A change in his position and she froze. Her heart wildly racing and pounding in her ears to vacation throughout her entire body: from the tip of her toes to the top of her injured head. Her eyes, for the first time, had averted to him and decided to rest on his silhouette in front of the bed. She willed her mind to let her eyes waver away from that person, but they seemed to have a mind of their own. She had never really looked at him before. During their love fests, she would find solace in the bleak beige ceiling while he pounded away his troubles also trying to console her murmuring sweet nothings to her. He wasn't anything special. He held clear porcelain between his long, lean fingers. _The ones he used to scar her body._ A cigarette rested lightly between his soft lips as if he was contemplating whether to smoke it or not. _He held it between those lips that bruised her own. _Disheveled bangs shielded his eyes away from her curious orbs, and she was forever grateful. She hated his eyes. **Hated** them.

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Finally her stare shifted, thankfully, to the window. Outside was freedom. Outside was **supposed** to be freedom. Liberality. But, even, the outside cannot save what's on the inside. It can only show. Explain. Elaborate on what we try dreadfully to keep hidden and out of reach from those daring inquisitive beings that do not or have not registered the meaning of enigma. The sky was so desolate. It appeared as a long outstretched vast of dark myriad planes that wrapped around the Earth with unrecognized hatred. There were no stars to guide you. No light. Only darkness. Just like he was and once again her eyes moved to the person at bay. He was swirling the crimson liquid in his glass now. Watching the way his reflection rippled and mirrored a distorted image of his sullen face. Often he had proposed while running his fingers through her hair, teeth caressing her stomach, _"Fear me."_ It was a plea. A lenient cry and she had only snapped her eyes shut to keep the tears from flowing. After his despairing display, she would then remember. She would remember being a happy carefree girl who was turned to his angel. **Hell's Angel**. Screams and pleas came in vivid colors. Callous nibbles and gyrating hips filled her mind taking her back to ever forgotten agony. She wanted to cry out! He had wanted it. He had wanted her. And when he did, she had left. While he continued to abuse her delicate body, she became a rag doll.

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But now she was like a rose. Blooming in the iridescence of the sunshine before beginning to wither. Wilting. Crumpled emaciated petals fluttering flaccidly behind her before disappearing. Gone. Lifeless. Now, she had him to lead her away to make her forget or so she thought. He had held her in one place instead of clinging. She was like sand. If you cling to hard the sand will sputter out but stand in one place and hold delicately the sand would stay. But sand was also free. Going wherever the wind took them. But instead of having the courage, she had got trapped. And, she hadn't minded. She _loved_ being alone. Loving the fact of silence in her meager thoughts. Reveling in the awaiting darkness, she had grown accustomed to.

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They had locked eyes. She froze. His** glass** eyes bore into her core. They frightened her for she couldn't read him. Behind his eyes she couldn't read his soul. She could never know his story. She could only see her reflection over and over again. Like glass. Like marble. But she knew one day they would shatter just like her hopes and faith where her ears were deafened by such atrocities. She was a fool. Foolish, foolish girl!

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A knee pressed into the foot of the bed, and he was over her now. Those long, lean hands traveled the valley of her breasts, tenderly stroking over an arched breast. His whispered pleas filled her ears like water, and she wanted dangerously to plug them up so she can never hear his soothing voice ever again. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to blame him. **Anything!** She gasped, and they clashed together in a frenzy of tangled limbs. They melded into each other's every curve. Every desire. Every torment, as they rocked together thrusts entrancing in a deadlock embrace. She wanted to cry out the real reason of her distress so his soul could rest and stop apologizing but she couldn't. She hadn't quite figured it out.

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A breathy kiss to her battered lips. Chaste and feathery light. He was trembling and he had murmured running precarious fingers through her curls, "I shall not hurtthee anymore." He had nibbled into the curve her neck his hot breath tickling the sides of her throat on that sensitive peachy skin muttering the word, _"Nevermore,"_ over and over.

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_"Nevermore."_

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Continuously.

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_"Nevermore."_

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Ringing in her ears like a bad song put on repeat. Her jaded eyes started to shiver with the glistening of unshed tears. It wasn't his fault. It was never his fault. Her soul had dreamt with the demons that night, and she knew deep down he had cruelly taken away her loneliness, but she was the cause. Deep down into secret territory, she knew. And her soul wasn't to be lifted and she whispered, **"Nevermore,"** before letting the other world relieve her.

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**A/N**: Okay, how was that? My first fic/one-shot. Did you like it? Hate it? I hope I didn't confuse any of you. If I did, I'm going to elaborate. 

**Themes:** Self-perpetuating anguish. Sakura knows that being raped when she was a little girl is what causing the pain in her heart. Syaoran helps her to relieve that pain somewhat. That's why she didn't want him comforting her it made her feel guilty and when they made love she knew she felt complete and she didn't want to feel that. She was lost in indecisive choices of the desire to be lonely, the desire to be wanted, or the desire to take away the pain. Syaoran tells her never again (nevermore) will hurt her and she's upset because she wants to be in pain. She's lost and realizes that she is her own distress.Herself. She claims she has no soul because the molester took itaway along time ago. But she's still suffering and Syaoran makes her remember.The title is supposed to symbolize irony.

Okay, wow! That was alot and a bit complicated. I hope you got my point. And if you didn't want to read that and try to figure it out on your own, don't blame me.

**_Flames ignored. Reviews appreciated. Constructive criticism very much considered. _**


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